Chapter 2 - The Forty Slaps She Counted
The first thing Alexander Brooks did when he entered my apartment was stop breathing.
Not literally.
But I saw the moment everything inside him changed.
He had spent years building a wall around himself.
A military man learns how to control his face.
How to hide pain.
How to stand still when everything inside him wants to break.
But when he saw Sofia sitting on my couch in that torn wedding dress, with bruises covering her arms and fear still trapped in her eyes, that wall disappeared.
"Sofia."
His voice cracked.
Only once.
But I heard it.
So did she.
My daughter looked up.
For ten years, she had imagined this moment.
Not this way.
Not on her wedding night.
Not while sitting beneath a blanket with blood still dried on her lip.
But she had imagined seeing her father again.
Alexander walked across the room slowly.
Like he was approaching someone fragile.
Someone who might disappear.
Then he dropped to his knees in front of her.
"Baby girl."
That was the name he had called her since she was five years old.
The name nobody else used.
Sofia stared at him.
And then she cried.
Not the silent tears she had been holding back.
Not the careful crying of someone trying not to fall apart.
Real tears.
The kind that come when you finally reach the one person you were afraid would never come.
Alexander took her hand.
His thumb moved carefully over her fingers.
As if he was afraid even touching her would hurt.
"I should have been there."
Sofia looked away.
The room became painfully quiet.
Because everyone knew it was true.
He should have been there.
For the birthdays.
For the graduations.
For the moments when she needed a father.
But regret does not travel backward.
It only arrives after the damage is already done.
"I called him," Sofia whispered.
Alexander looked at me.
"Who?"
She swallowed.
"Javier."
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Something colder.
"Where is he?"
Sofia closed her eyes.
And that was when I understood something.
The bruises were not the only thing hurting her.
The person who was supposed to save her had been the one who allowed it.
"Outside the door," she whispered.
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"Explain."
Sofia looked at the floor.
"After Carmen came into the room, I screamed."
Her voice shook.
"At first, I thought Javier didn't hear me."
She laughed once.
A broken sound.
"But he did."
I felt my stomach turn.
"He was outside."
Alexander became completely still.
"He heard everything?"
Sofia nodded.
"He knew."
The word sat in the room.
Heavy.
Cruel.
He knew.
That was worse than not knowing.
Because ignorance was an accident.
Silence was a choice.
"I kept asking him to open the door."
Sofia's hands tightened around the blanket.
"I kept saying his name."
She looked at her father.
"And then I heard him talking to Carmen."
Alexander leaned closer.
"What did he say?"
Sofia hesitated.
I saw the pain return to her face.
Like she was being forced to experience it again.
"He said..."
Her voice almost disappeared.
"He said, 'Just don't hit her face too much. People will notice tomorrow.'"
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
I watched Alexander.
A person who had faced things most people could never imagine.
A person who had stood in dangerous places.
A person who had spent his life around conflict.
But this was different.
Because this enemy had been invited into his daughter's life.
And he had called himself family.
Alexander slowly stood.
For one second, I thought he was going to leave.
I thought he was going to find Javier.
But he didn't.
He looked at Sofia.
"You are not leaving this room until a doctor sees you."
Sofia immediately shook her head.
"No hospital."
Her fear returned.
"They'll know."
"Who?"
She looked at him.
"Carmen."
Alexander sat beside her.
"Sofia."
His voice softened.
"Look at me."
She did.
"You are my daughter."
A pause.
"Not their possession."
Her eyes filled again.
"You don't understand."
"I understand enough."
"No."
She shook her head.
"They wanted the condo."
That caught his attention.
"The condo?"
Sofia nodded.
"They brought papers."
I looked at Alexander.
His eyes narrowed.
"What papers?"
"Transfer documents."
The room went silent again.
"They wanted me to sign everything over to Javier."
Alexander looked toward me.
"The property?"
I nodded.
"Her condo."
He looked back at Sofia.
"Did you sign anything?"
"No."
Her answer came immediately.
"I refused."
A small expression crossed his face.
Not relief.
Pride.
Because even terrified, even hurt, even surrounded by people trying to break her, Sofia had still protected herself.
"I counted."
I looked at her.
"What?"
She stared at her hands.
"The times Carmen hit me."
My heart stopped.
"Sofia..."
"I counted because I needed something to focus on."
Her voice was flat.
Too flat.
"One."
She looked away.
"Two."
A tear moved down her cheek.
"Three."
Alexander closed his eyes.
He did not want to hear this.
But he needed to.
"I counted until I couldn't."
I reached for her.
"How many?"
She was silent.
Then:
"Forty."
The word landed like a weapon.
Forty.
Not one mistake.
Not one moment of losing control.
Forty choices.
Forty times someone decided hurting my daughter was acceptable.
Alexander stood again.
This time, I saw the man everyone else knew.
The colonel.
The person who had spent decades making impossible decisions under pressure.
But when he spoke, his voice was quiet.
"Elena."
I looked at him.
"I need the names of everyone who was in that room."
Sofia looked frightened.
"Please don't."
Alexander turned back.
"They need to understand what they did."
"No."
She grabbed his sleeve.
"They'll hurt us."
That stopped him.
Because beneath the anger was something stronger.
Protectiveness.
He sat back down.
"We are not going after anyone tonight."
Sofia looked surprised.
"We are going to do this correctly."
I knew that tone.
Alexander was not calming down.
He was preparing.
He asked Sofia questions slowly.
Not like an interrogation.
Like a father trying to rebuild the timeline of the worst night of his daughter's life.
What time did she arrive at the hotel?
Who was at the reception?
When did Javier leave?
How long was Carmen inside?
Where were the papers?
Sofia answered everything she could.
Then she suddenly stopped.
"What?"
Alexander noticed immediately.
She looked toward the hallway.
"There was something else."
My heart tightened.
"What?"
Sofia pressed her fingers against her forehead.
"When Carmen came in, one of the women had a camera."
Alexander and I exchanged looks.
"A camera?"
Sofia nodded.
"I thought she was recording the papers."
She swallowed.
"But then she said something."
"What did she say?"
Sofia looked at me.
"She said nobody would believe me."
A cold feeling moved through the room.
Because people who are confident in their innocence do not usually collect evidence.
They collect protection.
Alexander stood.
"Where is your phone?"
Sofia looked confused.
"My phone was taken."
"When?"
"At the reception."
My blood ran cold.
"Who took it?"
Sofia shook her head.
"I don't know."
Alexander walked toward the table where my phone was charging.
He picked it up.
Then stopped.
"What?"
I saw his expression change.
"What is it?"
He turned the screen toward us.
There was a new message.
From Sofia's phone number.
But Sofia's phone was supposed to be missing.
The message contained only four words.
"Stop looking for her."
Alexander stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
This time with a photo attached.
Sofia's face went pale before I even saw the image.
May you like
Because she recognized it.
And when Alexander opened it, we saw exactly where the photo had been taken.
